


The Wolves Are Watching

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [60]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Genre Savvy, Innuendo, Negotiations, Psychological Drama, Scheming, Tea, funding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: To his chagrin, Renji co-signs on Rukia's idea of splitting up the group in Hueco Mundo.  Hisana and Yoruichi start a cold war with one of the Four Noble Families.  Rukia runs into a familiar face in Hueco Mundo....
Relationships: Ise Nanao & Kyouraku Shunsui, Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana, Kuchiki Rukia & Abarai Renji
Series: A Thin Red Line [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	The Wolves Are Watching

It’s a fucking bad idea. The kind of fucking bad idea that even the kids from the World of the Living immediately call it for what it is: A fucking bad idea.

Ichigo clears his throat unceremoniously. “Um, I’ve seen this horror movie,” he says, “it’s the one where the kids all split up and then _die_.”

“It’s actually a well-known trope,” adds Ishida, “separated, the group is weakened and the murderer can pick them off one at a time.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gives Rukia a meaningful stare, as if he is trying to kindly tell her the idea is fucking bad.

“Well,” huffs Rukia, “maybe we aren’t in a horror movie. Maybe it’s more of an action/adventure.”

“Yes, one of those _rare_ action/adventures with science experiments running amok in a creepy lab that’s left suspiciously unguarded,” says Ichigo, going heavy on the sarcasm. 

“Alright, creature-feature then,” she counters.

“Same trope applies there, too, I’m afraid,” replies Ishida astutely.

Rukia lets out a little growl. “What else are we going to do? Go through each spoke one by one _together_? Do you want me to _hold your hand, Ichigo_?”

Renji heaves a sigh, eyes drifting from Rukia to Ichigo to Ishida and then, finally, to Sado. 

Five spokes. Five of them. _Fuck_.

Of course, _this_ would be the design of Aizen’s keep. As if he was _expecting them_. The interlopers. All five of them. Asshole.

“Yeah, Rukia. That’s exactly what we should do. Our opponents are the Espada. They’re not exactly friendly,” says Ichigo with some authority.

“First,” Rukia begins, raising a finger, “they won’t necessarily rush us all at once. Second,” she raises another finger, “we don’t have all year to get this mission done, and finally,” she raises a third finger, “we’re all capable, right? No one needs a keeper.”

Ichigo flails at this reasoning. Concern gathers in his eyes. Concern for Rukia. 

This makes Renji wonder if Ichigo is protesting this plan because it’s a bad idea—as Ishida seems to think—or if it’s because Ichigo is worried about Rukia’s safety. Renji assumes it’s the latter, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

Rukia can handle herself.

Ichigo opens his mouth, but before he can get the words out, Renji steps in front of her. “Back off, kid,” says Renji, tiredly. “She’s right. We’re all competent fighters. Worrying over us is disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” echoes Ichigo.

“Yeah, _prudence_ isn’t exactly your _style_ , Ichigo,” Rukia chastises, “so it really seems like you’re worried I’m going to get myself killed.” She pauses, brow furrowed, annoyance etched into her face. “I didn’t come here to be protected by _you_ or anyone else. Got that?”

Ichigo blinks. Wordless.

“Good,” says Rukia, “Now, let’s go.”

Loosening a sigh, Ichigo shakes his head and shoves his hand through his thick mess of blond hair. “Alright, then. We split up.”

Ishida stirs a little at this. 

It’s still a bad idea. The enemies aren’t easy ones, and, well…. 

Renji pushes his concern aside, but it keeps popping back up, like a buoy. His heart picks up speed as they all turn to a spoke. “Wait!” he says, voice chasing down several of the darkened corridors, creating a choir of noise. 

All eyes are on him.

“Before we go, we have to do the good-luck chant,” the words come flying out of Renji’s mouth in a jumbled mess. The words are made even more jangly because of his nerves. Nerves that crackle and pop because what they’re about to do seems like a fucking bad idea. And, Renji just stupidly signed onto this bad idea to spare Rukia from Ichigo’s Übermensch routine.

“Good-luck chant?” Ichigo repeats the words skeptically. “Are we ten?”

“Yeah, I know it’s lame—” Renji grumbles under his breath. 

_But…._

“—it’s _tradition_ ,” says Rukia. Her eyes meet Renji’s. She knows every bit as well as he does that this isn’t _tradition_. The chant fell out of favor _years_ ago. But, the quiet gleam in her eyes convinces Renji that she’s returning the favor. 

_They’re in it together ‘til the end._

Rukia sticks her hand out, and Renji places his on top of hers. His heart gives a hard kick at the feel of her warmth, and he rips his stare up to find Ichigo watching them, bemused. 

“Put your hands in,” Renji bites the words out.

One by one they all comply. Sado is the most willing, then Ishida, and Ichigo is last.

Renji stares down at their hands, exhales a heavy breath, and begins, “As we head into this decisive battle, have faith that our blades will not shatter, have faith that our hearts will not waver, and, even if our paths should diverge, we all share a heart of iron. Swear that even if the ground beneath us should be rent asunder, we will live and return to this place again!”

With that, they each rush toward a different spoking corridor. Renji pauses for a moment, half-in, half-out of the hub and spoke, and he glances back at Rukia.

To his surprise, she returns his stare. 

Wordlessly, Rukia gives him a firm nod of her head before disappearing into the dimly lit hallway.

Renji turns to his spoke, knowing that, of all of them, she’ll be the one to make it. Inuzuri curs are good at surviving _fucking bad ideas._

* * *

Hisana stands adorned in vermillion and black silks. Her hair is _up_ and _pinned_. The style is an elaborate but subdued design suitable for a married woman… one looking for a _fling_.

She _hates_ it.

All of it.

After the last assassination attempt, Hisana thought these days were _long behind her_. But, Aizen happened. Although, as it were, Aizen had always been in the process of _happening_.

Hisana never liked Aizen.

Or elaborate hair.

Or silks that cost more than a whole Rukon village’s living _for a year_.

Yet, here she is. A sea of servants and retainers gather behind her like ocean water gathers around a boat it’s about to swallow. Before her are two mammoth oak doors. Carved into the thick wood of each door is a relief of Hell. Souls, bound and skeletal, are lovingly rendered floating around graveyards of impaled and tortured bodies. 

While Hisana doesn’t miss the humor of the relief at an event hall—waiting and meetings _are both hell_ —she does wonder whether the hall had been used for _other purposes_ in a bygone era.

Once she reaches the entrance, a low vibration thrums through her. Her bones clatter. Her teeth chatter. A cold rush of air catches her silks as the doors groan back on their hinges. 

Hisana steps inside to find that the vestibule has been split into factions. On the right half stands the Takatsukasa’s attendants. The clan’s kamon is a crane’s profiled head set in a circle, and it adorns the marigold silks of its attendants and guards. Iezane Takatsukasa stands in the corner of the room speaking with Tadahiro Konoe. 

The Konoe attendants, however, stand opposite the Takatsukasa dressed in dark scarlet silks. Tadahiro’s retinue isn’t as large as the Takatsukasa, but it’s _not nothing_.

Briefly, Hisana wonders whether her procession will fit. Would be _such a pity_ if she made them all go home. Where they belong.

This is ridiculous.

_She’s ridiculous._

At this realization, Hisana _misses_ her sister.

Rukia would’ve made fun of this entire _thing_ , and it would have satisfied Hisana, confirming that, indeed, it is _ridiculous_ to have a fleet of servants swarming around a building that can’t be more than twenty minutes from the estate. What do they think could happen? It’s a vote on funding the Gotei 13, not a vote to excommunicate one of the current families. Civil war isn’t on the menu today.

 _But… it’s tradition_. 

Indeed, the sole exception to the custom of sending a _party_ to protect the clan representative is the Shihōin clan because, when your family runs the Onmitsukidō, you don’t need a showy retinue. You have highly-trained assassins to do it for you, and, highly-trained assassins apparently aren’t interested in milling about in the open.

“You look miserable,” notes Yoruichi, who appears at Hisana’s side, seemingly manifesting from the ether.

Hisana glances up at the woman. Yoruichi stands tall and proud and wears a black form-fitting frock from the World of the Living. Or, at least, Hisana _assumes_ the dress is from the mortal world, as she’s never seen anything like it for purchase in Seireitei. 

“How is Byakuya managing?” Yoruichi turns her head to the large oak double-doors that lead into the meeting room. Both doors remain tightly sealed. 

Wordless, Hisana glances pointedly in the direction of their fleet of servants and sighs.

A chuckle reveals that Yoruichi understands her meaning well. “He’s always been inclined to the dramatic.”

This comment earns a grin from Hisana. “Indeed.” And, yet, she takes some comfort from the fact that her husband insisted because he cares. 

“Ladies,” greets a quiet _sly_ tenor. 

Hisana knows that voice well, and her expectation isn’t disappointed when she glances over her shoulder to find Lord Konoe approaching them wrapped in the colors and mon of his family. Hisana bows politely. “Lord Konoe,” she says, eyes on the floor.

“Tadahiro,” says Yoruichi, arms folded in front of her chest.

“Lady Shihōin.” Tadahiro gives Yoruichi a nod. When his attention drifts to Hisana, the corners of his mouth quirk up, and his eyes gleam with mischief. “Hisana,” he says and stops in front of her. 

Instead of offering Hisana the customary bow, Tadahiro takes her hand and kisses the back of it. The heat of his lips scorches the chill from her knuckle, but Hisana stands impassively, refusing the urge to flinch. She has long inured to Tadahiro’s attentions.

“You’re not going to kiss my hand, Tadahiro?” teases Yoruichi.

Tadahiro chuckles at the feigned insult. “I value my life too much, I’m afraid.” His eyes then return to Hisana. “I’m also afraid that we are going to have an uphill battle with Iezane.”

Hisana swallows the lump in her throat. “I thought as much.” 

The Takatsukasa sending a proxy instead of the _current clan leader_ or even the _current clan heir_ was the first tip-off that the family had no intentions of reaching consensus. While it’s customary for one clan head to send a proxy at any meeting requiring the attention of all Four Noble Families, the Kuchiki and Shihōin have already satisfied this requirement with Hisana and Yoruichi standing in for Byakuya and Yūshirō. Sending Iezane instead of his father or elder brother reeks of bad faith and little else.

To make matters worse, Hisana has had no dealings with Iezane. He’s relatively green, and, by the looks of it, full of himself. His chest is puffed out, shoulders square, and there is an almost cruel twist of the mouth as he speaks to one of his servants.

How dreadfully typical. 

Fighting back the burn of a frown, Hisana turns to Tadahiro. “Thank you, Lord Konoe, for the attempt.”

“Anything for the lady,” he says, voice edging scandalously close to insinuation.

The contents in Hisana’s stomach shifts as she considers what opportunity Tadahiro will try to extract from her family for his efforts. He hasn’t requested anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time….

“Do the Konoe endorse the current proposal?” asks Yoruichi, iron in her voice.

Tadahiro slips a hand into his haori and withdraws a sealed envelope. With a flick of his wrist, he offers it to her. “Our counter.”

Yoruichi shakes her head and sighs. “Of course. A _counter_ ,” she says as if Tadahiro’s action just reminded her of one of the _many_ reasons she happily left the privilege of her station all those years ago.

Hisana braces, waiting for Yoruichi to reveal the extent of the _favor_ that the Konoe family seeks in exchange for agreeing to fund the Gotei 13. 

“It isn’t too drastic. A haircut of ten percent and a request for a greater stake in the monitoring system my family had a hand in developing,” he says, arranging the fall of one of his sleeves. 

Yoruichi lets out a little sigh and hands the proposal to Hisana. “I don’t know how the current captain of Squad Two will take that request.”

“I’m confident that the Lady will direct Squad Two’s leadership as necessary to secure this arrangement,” he says the words around a smirk.

Hisana reads the terms. They aren’t as onerous as they could be. Tadahiro is doing them a courtesy in the only way he knows how—with many strings, all firmly attached.

“We still have the Takatsukasa, though,” says Hisana, voice dipping into a lower octave than her usual register. “Is this offer contingent on the families reaching a consensus?” 

Tadahiro’s smirk lengthens into a taunting grin. “It is. But, depending on how this meeting goes, I may be convinced to remove the contingency.” 

Hisana looks up at him, warily. The sinking pit in her stomach isn’t helped any by the way he watches her, like a wolf stalking a wounded sheep. The next concession he seeks, she fears, will be a personal one. 

“Your charity is _boundless_ , Lord Konoe,” Hisana replies.

With a teasing glance, he opens his mouth, but, before he can respond, the shrill creak of wood being forced back and cracking fills the vestibule. The whole room shifts its collective attention to the meeting room doors swinging open. 

“The representatives from the Four Noble Houses may now proceed inside,” calls a man’s voice.

The threesome trade dark glances before filing inside the capacious but dimly lit room. Thick cherry wood panels the walls. The floors are dark marble, and the coffered ceilings are forged from lavishly carved wood. Shadows shift and scatter, echoing the party’s every movement across the walls and floors. The amplification of visual noise draws Hisana’s attention. Each flickering tendril of darkness pulls her glance. 

She feels suffocated in pitch as dark as a pot of ink. It curls around her and clings to everything in sight.

“Ladies Shihōin and Kuchiki,” says Iezane. He gives a bow of his head in their direction before pulling out the ornately adorned chair pushed against the long cherry-wood table. “Tadahiro,” he says, voice striking a harsher chord when his gaze drifts to the lord of House Konoe. 

Both Hisana and Yoruichi greet Iezane with a bow of the head. Tadahiro, however, grins, eyes glittering with untold commentary on Iezane’s _faux pas_. Then, they all move to sit. A quiet rustling of wood scooting across a lush carpet fills the room for a few long moments.

Without further preamble, Iezane begins, “So, the Shihōin _princess_ called this meeting to discuss a work-around to the Central 46 Chambers in order to fund the Gotei 13. Am I understanding that rightly?” 

Yoruichi folds her arms in front of her chest. “That’s what my letter said, isn’t it?”

Nothing like a little confrontation to start off a meeting. Not that Hisana is surprised. Of course, Iezane would start off being an ass. He’s _new_ , and, for some reason, being _new_ gives nobles a reason to revel in recalcitrance. 

“Yes, it did. I guess I was just _perplexed_ as to how this letter found me after my family expressly declared its intention not to interfere in this particular matter when the Captain-Commander asked,” he replies. “There doesn’t seem much to gain by supporting the Gotei 13 at this point. They dug this particular grave for themselves. They should enjoy the burial on their own dime.”

“Lord Iezane,” says Hisana, voice soft and mild, “the Seireitei’s protection and safety relies on our troops. If the squads aren’t properly funded then we’re doomed. All of us. Our wealth and privilege will not grant us purchase if we are rendered to ash.”

“Do you really believe that possible, Hisana?” snorts Iezane. “Do you think the Gotei 13 will succumb to three defectors?”

“Yes,” say both Hisana and Yoruichi without pause.

Iezane blinks. Apparently, the little lord hadn’t anticipated a situation so dire. “I don’t—”

“If the Central 46 were assembled,” begins Tadahiro smoothly, “this would not even be a topic for discussion. The Chambers would pass an appropriate spend measure for the Gotei 13. The only question they would consider at any length would be: _How much_? I propose we do the same here today.”

This tact does not appear to convince Iezane. Not one bit. He gives a dark chuckle and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’m as willing as you, Tadahiro, to accept that conclusion. From where I sit, this appears to be a self-inflicted wound. Years of unchecked power tends to breed that sort of careless hubris. And, my family and our branch houses are not interested in paying for the Gotei 13’s mistakes.”

“The Gotei 13’s self-inflicted wound, as you say, becomes _our self-inflicted wound_ if we do not act with purpose and swiftly,” interjects Hisana, “While I would ordinarily applaud a reconsideration of the Gotei 13’s practices and role in Soul Society, that sort of navel-gazing will not protect us from the current threat here.”

Iezane throws his weight into the back of his chair. His gaze scatters to the side, and he shakes his head. “Tadahiro,” he begins after a pregnant pause. Gathering himself up, he sits forward, eyes pinning the Konoe lord, “You can’t possibly be in league with the Kuchiki and Shihōin on this matter. Neither of our families have a dog in this particular fight. We don’t throw in with the shinigami rabble.”

“Except that you do,” says Yoruichi, voice as cool and sharp as the edge of a sword, “this is an existential threat for us all. Aizen and his confederates didn’t just defect. They plan on taking power. And, I doubt any of our Houses have a place in his new world order.”

Again, Iezane snorts, disbelieving, arms folded protectively across his chest. “Three captains to what… our ten? You’re telling me that as it currently stands, our ten captains are no match for the defectors? Ridiculous!”

“The calculus isn’t so simple,” retorts Yoruichi, “it’s not _just_ three captains against our ten. It’s three captains, one of whom has taken a prized artifact that he plans on using to make himself a god.”

Hisana’s gaze drops to the table when she feels Tadahiro stir at her side. Well, at least it was Yoruichi and _not her_ that revealed this inconvenient fact. Not that she thinks there really was a way around it given their objective of shaking sense into Iezane.

“What?” Iezane can’t hide the tremor in his voice. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well,” Yoruichi says, sinking into the back of her chair, “the thing about the truth is that it doesn’t particularly care about your opinion of it. Whether you want to believe or not, Aizen is raising an army and is manipulating a powerful arcana to become stronger. We’re going to need all of our soldiers well-prepared to stop him.”

“Tadahiro?” Iezane turns to the man, eyes searching him. “Did you know this?”

Hisana glimpses Tadahiro from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t told him, and, right then, looking into his stricken face, she wonders if that was a miscalculation on her part. 

“No,” says Tadahiro, meeting Hisana’s gaze. “No one informed me of the extent of the captains’ treachery.”

“Then, how do we know it’s the truth? We could just be conferring a benefit to the Shihōin and Kuchiki, given their hand in the Gotei 13,” begins Iezane only to be pointedly interrupted by Yoruichi.

“Oh, please, Iezane,” she sighs and rolls her eyes, “what benefit would our families possibly gain from a measure that would fund the entire force? It’s not as if we are asking for funding to be allocated to only Squads Two and Six.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Iezane spits the words like they are pure venom, “your families’ missions are directly benefited under any such funding measure that is passed. Ours, however,” he says, gesturing to himself and Tadahiro, “are _not_. We are stuck accepting your word, and what fine words are those. From a traitor who abandoned us—” The gleam in his eyes brighten as he considers Yoruichi. He then turns to Hisana and flashes a crooked grin, “—and, tell me Lady Kuchiki, am I the only one in Seireitei you _haven’t_ _fucked_?”

Yoruichi bristles in her chair, but, before she can say or do anything, Hisana answers his insult, “It’s true. For the last fifty years, I’ve been the common whore wife in a family whose members have attempted to murder me _twice_. So, if you’re going to insult me, you’re going to have to _dig_ _deep_.” She pauses to lift her head and let the weight of his words fall away, “Either way, Aizen is coming to claim the Soul Society as his and either we can have a force to meet his that is depleted or strong. I choose strength in this instance.”

“As do I,” says Yoruichi.

“I as well,” Tadahiro agrees.

“So,” begins Hisana, “do the Takatsukasa stand with the defectors or the Gotei 13?”

“Perhaps Aizen’s leadership would be an improvement to the current regime, given all of the sins perpetrated by it over the years,” Iezane says, lips twisting into a rictus. 

“ _Sins_?” Hisana stares at him completely dumbstruck. “You can’t possibly be serious. You’d sacrifice our position over some historical slight?”

Immediately after the words are spoken, Hisana feels the heat of both Yoruichi’s and Tadahiro’s eyes on her, like tethers trying to pull her back. She’s made a mistake. A mistake likely made in ignorance of whatever esoteric _sin_ Iezane refers. 

It’s a mistake that Iezane pounces on with a tortured grin and eyes aflame. “Of course, the poor common whore wife wouldn’t know of the history of which I speak. No doubt Byakuya has seen fit to omit the more unspeakable portions of what our families and the Gotei 13 have had a hand in creating. The horror of its extent so vast it would stop your heart. Maybe it’s time to start over and build on a fresh foundation.”

Tadahiro heaves a sigh. “You’re being _extreme_ , Iezane,” he says, words caught on the tide of his breath, “You can’t tell me that the Takatsukasa’s position here is to endorse unbridled _chaos_.”

“Perhaps not directly. But, if the traitor and the whore speak the truth, it may be the result. And, perhaps this result is not a bad one given that our foundations are built on lies, violence, and piss-poor judgment,” reasons Iezane. “No matter,” he adds, forcing a breezy smile, “my family rejects the current proposal in full.”

“No counter?” asks Yoruichi.

Iezane pushes back from the table and stands. His smile contorts into something more twisted and sharper as he considers the Shihōin lady. “Sure. Get rid of the Gotei 13 and the Chambers and give the Noble Houses complete control over the three realms as it should have been from the start.” He pauses for a moment to relish their collective disgust before taking his leave. 

A chill rattles through the chamber in his wake. 

Hisana pinches the bridge of her nose and chokes down a sigh. Her head throbs, and exhaustion crashes into her, expelling what little vigor she’s managed to rally.

“That went _well_ ,” says Tadahiro.

“ _Very_ ,” Yoruichi agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Wordlessly, the three shuffle out of the room. Hisana keeps her head up and her expression impassive when they cross into the vestibule, which feels far less crowded and far grander without the Takatsukasa retinue.

“What are we going to do?” asks Yoruichi, lips tipping into a frown.

“We could always start a clan war,” teases Tadahiro. 

Hisana tuts at him lightly. “War?” she chastises him with a grin, “When there are so many _other_ _more exciting_ ways to force submission?” 

With this, Hisana reaches into the sleeve of her silks and fishes out a small square envelope. A quick gesture summons a young boy, Jiro Kuchiki, one of her husband’s attendants. 

“Milady,” Jiro greets, bowing low.

Hisana hands him the envelope. “Follow these instructions very carefully, Jiro. It’s important that each item on this list occurs in sequence.” 

The boy nods his head and is off in a blur.

“What was that?” asks Yoruichi, glancing askance at Hisana. 

“Orders for this very occasion,” Hisana notes, smoothing her sleeve down. 

“What kind of orders?” It’s Tadahiro’s turn to stare suspiciously down at Hisana.

“Orders to cut the Kuchiki supply lines and trade points to all Takatsukasa and Takatsukasa-affiliate caravans, merchants, and members,” answers Hisana, eyes focusing on the bright white light filtering into the vestibule through the open doors.

She feels Tadahiro drift closer, and, without looking, she knows he’s amused. He always seems to take amusement from her plots, even on the occasions when he is the target of them. “Cold tactics,” he says approvingly, “I will shut down our tradelines and our ports to them as well.”

Yoruichi grins. “Our subterranean routes have become popular due to the current military activities. I can have those closed to the family’s use.”

“How long do you think this will take?” asks Tadahiro.

What he’s really asking Hisana is whether the Takatsukasa will retaliate. Tadahiro is nothing if not ruthless about his family’s investments. 

To his point, however, if it had been just the Kuchiki blocking the Takatsukasa’s efforts, Hisana has no doubt that the Takatsukasa would retaliate, the length of which would be indeterminate. The Kuchiki holdings are _sizeable_ , and she would like to think that they would wear out the Takatsukasa quicker than the Takatsukasa could spend them. 

However, with all three noble families launching a coordinated effort, success seems certain. The Kuchiki and Konoe dominate the most desirable trade routes and points, and, with the underground tunnels no longer an option, the Takatsukasa have very little recourse. Their branch families and affiliate houses will scream bloody murder at the potential economic and political consequences. There is also the matter that the Takatsukasa clan leader has little appetite for sustained friction against the other houses. 

“End of the day,” Hisana decides, forcing a confidence to her voice that she doesn’t quite feel yet, “if we can get everything in position.”

“Alright,” says Tadahiro. 

The three exchange dark glances before scattering to carry out the plan.

* * *

So, maybe splitting everyone up wasn’t the _best idea_. This thought occurs to Rukia when she hears a mechanical whirring sound from the chamber up ahead. It’s the metallic squeal of gears being forced into motion. Rukia can’t see what’s happening, but she can feel the vibrations from the sudden disruption crescendo through her, and she pauses. 

Rukia glances over her shoulder. Nothing but shadows and velvety blue darkness. Up ahead is a rectangle of light. She isn’t too far from the end of the passageway, and _yet_ ….

Fear enters her with the force of a bludgeon to the gut. A gasp of air expels from her lungs. “ _Sado_?” She feels his reiatsu flare, as if rallying against something _bad._

 _Real bad_.

“Shit!” She isn’t that far if she hustles.

Rukia shoots forward. Her legs take the steps leading to the passage’s threshold two at a time. Every muscle in her gut goes as taut as the string of a bow ready for release. She’s so close.

So very close.

Inhaling a deep breath, she plunges into the white light. Only when realization slams into her does she reel back, skidding to a stop. Dread is on her. A deep, foreboding sort of dread, the type that precedes unexpected death. Her death? Sado’s death? She can’t tell, vision blinking in and out as her eyes try to adjust to the bright glow of daylight.

_Daylight?_

Every damn alarm in her body rings out. Adrenaline floods her, setting her nerves crackling like lit fuses writhing under her flesh. Eyes hungry, she surveys the area. 

How did her passage dead-end into a _skybridge_? A thick, cement skybridge at that. Above her is a nothing but bright blue sky. White fluffy clouds float overhead, which is _disconcerting._ Below and around Rukia are stone buildings. And, looming in front of her, connected to the bridge on which she now stands, is a gargantuan white tower. 

_This isn’t right._

There is no wind. No breeze. No sound at all. Everything has gone eerily still. It feels as if she is underwater with only her internal creaks and groans to break the silence.

Her innards shift like the sands that gave away under Renji’s feet when they first arrived in Hueco Mundo. _Is this some sort of trick?_ she wonders, heart clenching in her chest.

Panic pulls at the threads of her composure as she considers _Sado._ She had felt his reiatsu throttle and flare, as if he had been caught by someone or some _thing._ But, before she can reach for the threads of her comrade’s reiatsu, a voice shatters her concentration. 

“ _Would you like me to tell you where you are?_ ”

Rukia whips her head around, staring demandingly behind her. _Nothing_. Her eyes only find the dark rectangle of the corridor that she had just left. 

Is she losing her mind? 

She swears she heard the low gravel of a man. Her eyes narrow. The voice had sounded familiar, but she can’t immediately place it. It scratches at her brain though, like rats scratching around the attic.

Turning to the tower ahead of her, she starts. Ice water rushes through her veins, sending her internal temperature plummeting, and her heart drops a few beats. A tall, slender figure cloaked in white stands in front of the tower. Reflexively, Rukia’s right hand flies to the hilt of her zanpakutō, fingers gripping it, relishing the prickle of the wrapping.

“ _Follow_ ,” calls the strange figure, and it slips through the door to the tower.

So, maybe Ichigo was right. _This is a horror flick._

Rukia has a bad feeling about this, but it’s not as if she has any other choice. With hand gripping her sword, she continues across the bridge and enters the tower.

For the second time, her vision goes dark, eyes struggling to see through the inky shadows that envelop her once the door slams shut. She pauses in her paces and winces when the little sliver of sunlight evaporates. 

“Sorry about that,” the strange voice says, low and quiet, “I’m not great with sunlight.”

 _That’s precisely something a monster would say_!

Rukia’s head tilts back, and her stare trails up to find the strange white figure standing a few arm’s lengths in front of her. A mask with three holes that run vertically down each half hides the monster’s face. The mask itself reminds Rukia of the ones that the killers wear in Ichigo’s slasher films. 

“Who are you?” Rukia asks the question with the same amount of force that a hound might use to tear tendon from bone.

“I’m Aaroniero Arruruerie,” says the monster as it unfastens its mask. 

Slowly, he pulls the mask down to reveal his face.

Shock immediately transfixes Rukia, stealing her breath and slitting her heart to ribbons. She can’t believe her eyes, but no matter how many times they flutter, all she sees is _him_.

All she sees is the man whom she loved as a brother, as a mentor, as the best of vice captains. He was among the best of _them_. Period.

_And she murdered him._

“Kaien.”

* * *

Nanao Ise sits hunched over a large tome on the history of kidou. At her knee is a cup of sobacha tea, which she picks up and carefully puffs back the gray wisps of steam rising from the drink. Pausing only to flip the page of the book, she then takes a small sip and sets the cup down.

Still too hot, she thinks, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Maybe by the time she finishes the chapter on the manipulation of advanced hadou techniques, the tea will be appropriately temperate. Only twenty more pages left.

This hope of hers, however, quickly evaporates the moment she hears the notes of Tatsufusa Enjōji’s voice call her name. She lifts her head and peers over the top of the glossy black frames of her glasses. “Yes,” she replies with a hard blink. Carefully, she slides the glasses off and cleans the lenses with the slack of her sleeve.

“Lady Kuchiki is requesting an audience with the Captain.” Tatsufusa stares blankly down at Nanao. “He’s not in his office.”

It’s noon. The Captain is _never_ in his office at noon. The weather’s nice, meaning he’s probably napping in a sunbeam. He’s also likely taking this nap somewhere inconvenient to reach.

“Did Lady Kuchiki give a reason for her visit?” asks Nanao and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Tatsufusa shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”

Nanao’s lips pull to the side. She has probably spoken to the Lady of House Kuchiki a handful of times at various events when Nanao and Captain Kuchiki served as vice captains together prior to his promotion. That was almost _fifty years_ ago, though…. 

On occasion, Nanao sees the Lady walking with Captain Kyōraku, but the Lady has never paid Squad Eight a visit. A fact that makes Nanao think that every time she catches them together it’s because her captain has _intruded_ on the Lady’s politeness. 

“Seems wrong to dismiss Lady Kuchiki without saying _something_ ,” says Tatsufusa.

He’s not wrong, Nanao thinks. High nobles are _particular_ about decorum and respect. In truth, so is she. But, what are they going to say? 

_‘Welcome to the Eighth. We can’t keep track of our own Captain. We’ll let him know you dropped by!’_

That sounds _damning_ , especially that it’s only been a few months since the squads tried to execute the Lady’s sister on falsified orders perpetrated by three of their own. And, aren’t they currently trying to convince the high nobles to release their hands on the purse strings?

_Goodness… what a quagmire…._

Tiredly, Nanao dogears the page that she’s currently reading, claps the book closed, and stands. “I’ll speak to Lady Kuchiki.”

Tatsufusa nods his head and steps into the hallway.

With a heavy heart, Nanao glances down at her little reading nook next to the window. Golden threads of sun slant across her book and tea set. She stares at the cracked blue leather cover for a long moment as she tries her hardest to drum up an explanation that is both appropriately apologetic but also avoids admitting to incompetence wholesale. 

If only she had an incantation for hairy social situations, she muses and heads for the door. 

Before Nanao can cross into the hall, however, a question freezes her in place. “What’s the Lady wearing?” The sly earthy intonations that sound from behind her belong to only one person.

“Captain Kyōraku!” says Nanao with a mixture of relief and censure. She shuffles to her desk, the large one set on the opposite end of the room, and she finds him.

 _Well_ … she wasn’t wrong about him napping in a sunbeam. 

Buttery light spills from the window in the corner of the room, cutting a diagonal pattern across his face, the light of which skips across the chestnut waves of his hair. It is, however, rather _presumptuous_ of him to think behind her desk was a good hiding place.

Although, he wasn’t _wrong_ to hide there _._

Has she become that _predictable_? 

Glancing up at her through one squinted eye, he fixes her with a look. “Well?”

“ _Well_ , what?” Nanao parrots back at him, hands on her hips.

“What’s she wearing?”

“What does that have to do with _anything_?” Nanao glares at him, borderline _appalled_ at what he could possibly _mean_ by that question. It sounds _crude_.

“A lot,” he says firmly, letting his eye fall shut. He snuggles deeper in his pink haori. “Red silks or not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go take a look and let me know.”

Nanao gawks down at him. “ _What_?” she scolds more so than asks. _Never_ would she _ever_ consent to do such a thing. Leering at Lady Kuchiki… by proxy… _how profane!_

“It’s important for my strategy.”

Part of Nanao thinks he’s goading her, and, boy, does he love a good goading. No one can ruffle her feathers better than Kyōraku. But, another part of her thinks he’s being sincere, a thought that sounds _immensely stupid_ even in the privacy of her own head.

“Has the sun given you a stroke?” she asks.

A lazy smile lengthens his lips, and his shoulders shake, as if he is trying to hold back a chuckle. “I’m perfectly intact, dear Nanao. So kind of you to care, though. Really warms the heart.” 

Nanao drifts closer, her shadow draping over his face, and he glances up at her. “I’ll go fetch the Lady,” she says.

“And, tell me what she’s wearing before you walk back into the room.” He gives her a wolfish wink.

Nanao glances away, irritation building in her chest. 

“The Lady wears red,” enters a teasing voice.

 _A_ _woman’s voice_.

Nanao startles, hand flying to her chest, pressed against the spot where her heart pounds. “Lady Kuchiki!” Nanao offers the Lady a bow. “A pleasure.”

“Feared that was the case,” sighs Kyōraku, voice low enough for Nanao to hear, but too quiet to draw the Lady’s attention.

“Did I interrupt something? An afternoon nap perhaps?” asks Lady Kuchiki, standing in the doorway. Indeed, the Lady is wearing bold glossy red and black silks with the same ease that she wears her smirk.

Kyōraku stands, shaking away some momentary lethargy. “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he considers her with a mild smile, and his brown eyes glitter with warmth.

His warmth, however, is not returned, Nanao notes. 

Instead, anxiety has its grip on the Lady, creasing her brow. She wrings her hands and bites on her bottom lip before stepping across the threshold. Her head tilts to the side, and her violet eyes cloud with concern. “I’ve turned up wanting, Captain. And, I need your help.”

Lady Kuchiki reminds Nanao of the _femme fatales_ from her _noir_ novels. The kind of woman who saunters into an office wearing her femininity like chainmail and wielding her helplessness like a polearm. Nanao doesn’t buy the Lady’s worry. Not for a second, and, glancing back at her captain, she hopes he sees through it, too. 

Nanao frowns.

Kyōraku stares at the Lady like a blithering idiot. It’s just as Nanao imagines the male detectives look when meeting one of these women in those novels. 

“How can I be of service to Milady?” he practically sings.

Nanao exhales a heavy breath and crosses her arms in front of her, careful to keep the skepticism off her face. 

Nearing the captain, the Lady stops at the corner of the desk. Her thin fingers ghost across the smooth edge, and she considers him with fleeting glances, as if her thoughts are torn between worry and embarrassment. “I found my education has not been as thorough as it should be,” she admits, eyes downcast, head turned just enough to expose the column of her pale neck, “and I hear the captain is such a good teacher.”

His smile widens for a flash, but it falls the moment he takes a step forward. “I’m a very thorough educator, milady.”

“It will need to be quick; there isn’t much time,” the Lady adds, voice soft and breathless.

Kyōraku drifts nearer, hand also skimming the grain of the wood, and gaze darkening. “Quick and vigorous? Even better.”

The Lady catches him with a look, a cunning sparkle in her eyes, and she seemingly reels him closer. “But, the subject is very dense.” 

“Don’t worry, I can very pointed. Penetrating, even.”

“Penetrating,” she repeats the word with a sly glance, “will be necessary, Captain. My lack of knowledge in this particular matter runs very deep.”

“I do love penetrating deep hol—”

“Captain!” cries Nanao. She _will not_ be a witness at Captain Kuchiki’s trial for double homicide.

Realizing that her mewl has silenced them, a scorching burn spreads across Nanao’s cheeks. Her eyes widen. She can feel her pulse quicken in her throat, beating so hard that it radiates up her jaw, tensing the muscles there.

Both Kyōraku and the Lady burst into a fit of laughter. Lady Kuchiki hides her amusement behind the leaves of a finely painted fan. “Look, we made your poor Vice Captain blush,” sing-songs the Lady, glimpsing Nanao from the corner of her eye.

Kyōraku’s gaze trails to Nanao, eyes full of mirth. “She lasted longer than I thought.”

“You and Isshin were always game for a dare,” says the Lady wistfully and limply waves her fan in front of her face.

Nanao wonders after this glance, the mention of the former captain of the Tenth, and the strange knowing look these things garner from Kyōraku. 

Is something the matter? More schemes afoot? Ones that involve the Shiba now? Nanao doesn’t think she can handle any more drama from the captain set. She’s had her fill for the next few lifetimes. 

“So, what can I do for the Lady?” asks Kyōraku, eyes clear and keen as he considers her.

“Tea?” asks the Lady, lifting a brow in invitation. “You probably know this, but the Four Noble Families had a meeting this morning to discuss the funding measures for the Gotei 13.”

Kyōraku’s thick brown brows waggle up. “Oh, is that right?” he asks, feigning ignorance with the _worst of them_.

The Lady doesn’t mistake the feign in his voice and lets out a little chuckle. “It went _poorly_ ,” she sighs, “but I did learn something interesting.” She draws in a quick breath, as if she is considering her next words only to abandon them.

“What was that?” he prompts her.

Lady Kuchiki gives a small self-deprecating smile, “That I don’t know everything.” Her shoulders sag a little at this admission.

“Oomph,” the Captain chuckles, “a hard lesson that.”

“Indeed,” she says gently, “Fortunately for me, ignorance is a curable affliction. The topic, though, likely requires a tea to set me right on this bit of Soul Society esoterica.”

“If tea includes sake, then it’s an _honor_ to join the Lady for _tea_ ,” he says. _Wantonly_.

Nanao shakes her head, an action that she almost regrets when the Lady catches it. The Lady, however, grins at Nanao’s unspoken commentary. 

She then returns her attention to Kyōraku. “Of course, Captain. Although, we may require stiffer alcohol when we get into the weeds of this particular topic,” she says warmly.

Moving to the door, Kyōraku glances down at the Lady when she draws to his side. “May I inquire after the topic?”

“The founding of Soul Society,” she says evenly.

Kyōraku looks over his shoulder at Nanao. “If the Captain-Commander calls me, let him know I’m discussing particulars with Lady Kuchiki. Given the topic, it’ll likely be some time before I return.”

Nanao bows. “Yes, Captain,” she says dutifully. When she straightens, she finds herself alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on this chapter:
> 
> 1\. As always, THANK YOU for reading! This has been such a long fic (the word count is embarrassing....) that I'm overjoyed anyone still reads this thing.
> 
> 2\. I really had hoped to get to the BIG BATTLE alluded to here in this chapter but decided to save it for the next chapter, which will conclude this part of the series. I hate to admit it, but the arrancar arc was a slog at times for me as a reader of the manga. (The anime was even worse for me with the random filler arcs cutting up the flow for good measure.) 
> 
> 3\. I waffled with including the Renji chant scene (had originally planned on including it in the last chapter), but [polynya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polynya/pseuds/polynya) convinced me to keep it with her kind comment. I think it serves as a nice opener for this chapter. ^_^
> 
> 4\. NANAO POV! Have to say among my favorite relationships (although not necessarily romantic relationships) in Bleach is the one between Shunsui and Nanao. It was probably the first one that got me into Bleach fanfic.


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